


make me a playlist, then we’ll talk

by spazgay



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bisexual Male Character, DNF, DREAM HAS A JUUL COVERED IN GREEN GLITTERY TAPE OK, Friendship, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Weed, dreamnotfound, i guess, i suck at this SO sorry, ig theyre all sort of stoners but whatever, playlists, stoner dream, stoner karl, stoner quackity, they are all in florida SOMEHOW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29713107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spazgay/pseuds/spazgay
Summary: making friends... through the descriptions of apple music playlists//When George checks out Clay’s account again, he doesn’t expect to be met with a playlist entitled ‘@Georgenotfound’. The picture is of Clay’s cat, Patches, with Snapchat text over it that read ‘Hey...’.What? The fuck?Did Clay think he was weird? For following him even though he didn’t really know him? Shit. Fuck. Oops.His finger hovers over it a moment, before he gives in a presses it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 153





	1. butterfly effect / nosering

**Author's Note:**

> chapters are named after the songs that r in them
> 
> don’t over analyze the songs they choose just yet
> 
> enjoy

A sigh leaves his lips as his thumb hovers over the ‘ _Create Account_ ’ button. He scrolls up, absentmindedly pushing hair away from his face, eyes skimming over the things he’d typed. He double checks his @, the playlists that would be visible, the picture he’d chosen, the display name—everything would be perfect.

(He’d spent, like, an _hour_ skimming  every single one of his fucking playlists for embarrassing shit. He was way too dedicated now to turn back, so he may as well make sure every goddamn aspect of this seemed put together.)

_ george 💙 _

_ @georgenotfound _

_ Hip Hop/Rap, Alternative, Pop _

Nick would finally be off his ass about making an Apple Music account. He presses the button, blinks at his screen a few times, noting the time, 12:29 AM. He takes a quick screenshot and texts it to Nick, accompanied by a motion blurred picture of himself flashing the middle finger. He hits send and drops his phone by his side. It vibrates almost immediately and George can’t help but pick it up.

_ Nick: YOOO LET’S FUCKING GOOOO _

_ Nick: add me as a friend RIGHT FUCKING NOW _

_ George: fine whats your @ pisshead _

_ Nick: what do you think it is dumbass 😨 _

_ George: nvm adding you right now _

_ George: dick  _

_ Nick: lol  _

George toggles back to his Apple Music and hits his name. He scrolls down to the bottom of his page until he sees ‘ _Follow More Friends_ ’. He hits Nick’s name as soon as he sees it. He goes ahead and hits Karl, Alex, and Darryl’s names as well. He was looking forward to being amused by their tastes in music. 

Then he sees a name he isn’t as familiar with.

_ 😶 clay 💭 @dream _

_Clay_.

Clay was Nick’s other close friend, and George didn’t know him particularly well. He knew he  wanted to know the guy, he seemed _fun_ from what he’d seen in pictures off Nick’s Snap stories. He knew Nick wouldn’t talk to him so much if he was a _prick_ , so George knew he was nice, or at least nice according to Nick’s standards. What was stopping him?

He didn’t really know.

He figured he may as well follow the guy. His taste in music didn’t seem that bad. Bad whatsoever, actually. George wouldn’t mind leaving his playlists on shuffle for a while. So he hits follow and shoots a quick text to Nick that says _‘_ _ i followed you, good fucking night _ _’_ only for Nick to respond ‘ _ brruuhh the night is YOUNG ASFF i swear u never recovered from british time zones 😒😒 ’.  _

_ George: sleep  🫂🫂 my beloved _

_ George: nicholas  💔🖕 my arch nemesis  _

_ Nick: sorry bout what i said could you ever forgive me _

_ Nick: bec i wanna play csgo georgie please  🤲😋 i blove ydou _

_ George: goodnight  👎 _

_ Nick: fuck you _

_ Nick: brit _

_ George: and proud  _

_ George: goodnight  _

_ Nick: sleep well i guess  🙄🖕😘 _

George huffs out an exasperated laugh to no one while he reacts with a thumbs up and puts his phone on his bedside table. He flops onto his back and settles deeper into his bed. He pulls his blankets further up to his shoulders and shuts his eyes, eventually letting himself drift off to sleep, but not before, of course, his routine counting of the ‘popcorn’ in his popcorn ceiling.

With a sigh, he turns over and squeezes his eyes shut.

He was dreamless that night.

He wakes up to the incessant buzzing of his phone. George swears under his breath as he sits up, reminding himself  _ you’ve got to change your alarm tone. It’s fucking annoying.  _

The sun that peers through his blinds is (thankfully) minimal, yet he still shields his eyes while he blindly fumbles for his phone next to him. 

He gets a grip in more ways than one, takes a big,sobering breath of cold air, and checks his phone after telling his alarm wordlessly to _shut the fuck up._

He has a few texts from Nick (‘ _dude wheres your fucking sex playlist i literally expected more from you_ ’ ), a couple from a groupchat titled ‘WE HAVE SEX’ (truthfully, it had been a bit) and a couple from Apple Music indicating that his friends had followed him back. He skims over his texts for anything that could be considered vaguely important, and pockets his phone once he realizes that all of his texts were shit jokes, British slander (what the fuck did he do?), and making fun of everyones love lives (or lack thereof).

He wills himself to get out of bed and put clothes on. He slides his current shirt over his head and tosses it towards— fuck,  somewhere . He glances at the clothes he had put out and considers them for a moment. He didn’t have anywhere to be, no reason to dress like he was going out. He gives in and changes. 

He runs a hand through his hair and deems it good enough. He mindlessly navigates to Apple Music while he grabs earbuds off his kitchen counter and plugs them into his phone.  H e decides, out of pure curiosity, to put one of Clay’s playlists on. To judge him purely for his taste in music. 

When George checks out Clay’s account again, he doesn’t expect to be met with a playlist entitled _‘@Georgenotfound_ ’. The picture is of Clay’s cat, Patches, with Snapchat text over it that read ‘Hey...’. 

_What? The fuck_?

Did Clay think he was weird? For following him even though he didn’t really know him? _Shit. Fuck. Oops._

His finger hovers over it a moment, before he gives in a presses it.

_ @Georgenotfound _

_ by  😶 clay 💭 _

_ your taste in music is awesome... and we have so many mutual friends.. why don’t we talk more  🤐 _

He rereads Clay’s message over and over, the words drilling their way into his head. The same question from last night arises. The same question that makes his head ache and the tips of his ears hot.

Why  _ didn’t  _ they talk more? 

After a while of his tired mind processing (or, at least trying to) Clay’s words, he goes back to the ‘Library’ section of his Apple Music and presses the new playlist button. 

He simply names it ‘@ _Dream_ ’.

_ what if i’m a bad person who listens to good music? _

His pink cursor blinks for a moment while he contemplates the response in the description of the playlist. He adds a single song just for good measure. 

_ BUTTERFLY EFFECT -  ** Travis Scott ** _

He hits done.

* * *

Over the next three hours, George can’t stop checking Clay’s account. He hates that he wants a response  this  badly. It’s pitiful, really, that he wants a response this badly from a guy he barely knew outside of Nick’s shitty wasted Snapchat stories, twirling a Juul wrapped in green glittery duct tape or cradling his cat, a blurry joint in his mouth. George was well aware that his eyes lingered on Clay far longer than he’d like to admit. 

_ [A picture off Nick’s Snap, showing Clay sitting on a couch across from Nick (presumably), a plume of smoke partially obscuring his face. He looked mid-laugh, the smile on his face still fairly visible.] _

If anything, it was because Clay was awfully elusive to him. With the mysterious ‘Dream’ @ andalmost facelessness (to George), he couldn’t help but be drawn in. 

_ [ A selfie off Nick’s story again, this time of Nick in his room, illuminated only by red LED lights, Clay sitting behind him with his head angled down and his middle finger up. Nick’s smile is wide and the picture is a little shaky. Text sits overtop it that simply reads ‘he is so mean to me and for what’.] _

Mindlessly chewing on a sandwich and scrolling through his (depressing) news feed, he realizes it had been half an hour since he last checked Apple Music for any response from Clay. 

_Half an hour_?  his brain snorts at him.  _ Bloody hell. _

What if Clay was weirded out by his reply? 

_ what if i’m a bad person who listens to good music? _

What if Clay simply didn’t want one? 

_Fuck_.

He feels odd opening the app this time around. An unusual sense of something akin to dread makes him navigate the app a little slower, his sandwich now neglected on the plate in front of him. He swallows before giving in and tapping on Clay’s name.

He purses his lips to hold back the smile that threatened to emerge onto his face.

_ @Georgenotfound _

_ by  😶 clay 💭 _

_ oh please nick waxes poetic about what a good guy you are sometimes so i sincerely doubt it _

George blinks at Clay’s most recent message. His mouth goes dry.  _ Waxes poetic?  _

_ Nick, you little shit. _

He puts his friend’s pure and utter _dumbassery_ aside and thinks over his next words carefully.

He didn’t want to come off as desperate for friendship, yet not completely uninterested, because God  _ knew _ he was interested. In getting to know the guy.

George hesitantly types out a response, hitting the backspace button more times than he would’ve liked to. The bravado that oozes from his words is _complete_ bullshit, but Clay wouldn’t know that. He had no way to. Unless Nick was out here spilling to Clay that he was totally faking it, he was fine. 

He rereads his words about 100 times. Surely something was wrong. Surely there was something that would embarrass him and come back to bite him in the ass when it was too late to fix. If there was, he couldn’t tell. 

_ @Dream _

_ by george 💙 _

_ make me a playlist, then we’ll talk ; ) _

This time around, he adds something a little different. 

_ nosering -  ** brakence  ** ft.  ** 50landing ** _

He shuts his eyes and hits done. He doesn’t like how quiet everything is around him now that his response is done and his phone is off. 

He doesn’t like how _attached_ he’s getting to these little stupid interactions with Clay in the descriptions of fucking Apple Music playlists. And how _quickly_ it’s all happening.

He doesn’t like waiting for Clay’s reply, either.


	2. libra sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay blinks at the seven words that George has replied with. Blinks at the stupidly cute cat that’s taking up a pretty good chunk of his screen. But, more importantly—
> 
> He wants me to make him a playlist?
> 
> Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guh it took much longer than anticipated to post this chapter :( plus its kind of short so boo me so sorry but i have plans to continue this bit from georges pov next chapter lol so thats coming :) enjoy

_ @Dream _

_ by george 💙 _

_ make me a playlist then we’ll talk ; ) _

_ [A picture of a gray cat, which he could only assume was George’s, Snapchat text over it reading ‘Hey...’, obviously mimicking one of Clay’s earlier playlist covers.] _

Clay blinks at the seven words that George has replied with. Blinks at the stupidly cute cat that’s taking up a pretty good chunk of his screen. But, more importantly—

_ He wants me to make him a playlist? _

_ Well, fuck. _

“Hey, nimrod,” Nick bumps his knuckles gently against Clay’s ribs, pulling him from his thoughts, “I can, like, find the song myself. If you can’t.”

Dream huffs out a laugh, elbowing Nick in the side in return. “I can find it.”

“It’s probably for the best if he can’t find it, Mr. I wanna see some ass.” Karl interjects with a giggle.

“Oh, hush, Mr. pop a perky just to start up,” Nick huffs and rolls his eyes.

“But, Clay, you were staring at your screen for, what, Karl, a solid minute?” Karl nods, exhaling smoke through a quiet laugh. “Dude, what— wait, _what the fuck_?” 

Nick snatches the phone from his hands before he even has a chance to question him. His eyes skim over the screen, a laugh bubbling from his mouth and an amused grin making its way onto his face.

“You and George?” he giggles, “Please.”

“ _George_? ” Alex suddenly leans towards them, dropping his phone in his lap and poorly stifling a laugh with an obviously fake cough, “Clay, you wouldn’t— he’s, like, a lightweight or something.”

“He’s not a lightweight,” Karl cuts in, his oddly serious words not matching his amused expression. “He can just be really fucking _boring_.”

“I don’t re—“

“Like, with George at parties,” Karl interrupts, earning a swat on the wrist from Clay, “The  only situation I can imagine where you’d have to worry about him is him  _ maybe  _ shotgunning two sparkling waters within an hour and _maybe_ pissing his pants.”

Clay can’t help but snort at that. He twirls his Juul between his fingers, resisting an eye roll when they continue their banter.

“You two—“ Nick pauses to point accusatory fingers towards both Alex and Karl, “You’ve both smoked with him. He can be fun.”

“The fun to not-fun ratio of George definitely leans towards not-fun.” Alex gestures for the blunt from Karl, who reluctantly obliges. 

“I mean, we  _ did  _ invite him over a while back, and he said no because he’d rather fucking  _sleep_ ,” Nick says with a light hearted groan. 

Karl follows up in a British accent with, “ _ Just checked in with the Queen, don’t think it’s a go. ” _

Clay takes a moment to laugh at that, before dragging off his Juul and fucking giving up on deciphering anything from the other three’s jumbled conversation with a sigh. He sinks a little further into Nick’s surprisingly un-shitty couch, ignoring the bored little itch at the back of his brain.

_ The playlist. _

“—George and I are  literally  pretty best friends, the bible is  _bullshit_ —!”

_ The playlist. _

“—Alex, please, George cannot  _stand_ —“

_Why on Earth was making a playlist so stressful?_

“—oh, honk  _ off _ , Karl—“

_ And why the fuck did it seem so personal all the sudden? _

When Karl and Alex’s laughing suddenly becomes grating and the conversation has calmed down a considerate amount and the smell of weed is just way too much for him and the light rain pattering against Nick’s open windows proves far more engaging than their conversation, he nudges Nick’s thigh. 

“I’m gonna head out, I think,” he announces, everyone’s eyes flickering over to him, “Before the weather gets worse.”

After a few goodbyes and a long hug from a high and overly affectionate Karl, he’s back in his kind of shitty Nissan Altima, frigid hands gripping the steering wheel while thunder rumbles, low, behind him. 

The sky is gray, any blue completely obscured by clouds. He internally curses the incoming shit weather, making everything so damn  dreary.  It _isn’t_ helping.

He huffs out a sigh and focuses on the dim road ahead of him. 

* * *

It takes Clay a good hour to finish the playlist. 

_ 8:06 PM. _

It was a weird hour. Oddly stressful, the weather was being fucking  weird,  he was hungry ,  and every single song he put in the playlist felt  _ wrong , somehow. _

_ George has literally listened to shit off this album, and so have I. I think he’d like this track. What if this all fucking sucks though? And he hates it? Then what? Fuck.  _

What if George tended to overanalyze lyrics like he did?  


_ Would he think I was being weird? _

He groans and tilts his head back to rest against his headboard, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees his cat, Patches, waltz through his open door, tail swishing and mewling softly. He clicks his tongue a couple times and pats his lap. She seems to get the memo and walks to the side of the bed, letting him pick her up and set her in his lap. 

He shifts a little, letting her get comfortable, pets her for a moment, and returns his attention back to the dimmed screen of his phone with a sigh.

He’s over-scrutinized every single one of the thirty three songs in the playlist, simply titled ‘ _george_ ’. 

Clay’s not sure the playlist could get much better, until he sees it.

The description is just there, empty. Waiting to be typed. 

He contemplates a few things. Maybe a winky-faced emoji, or a little smiley, or maybe just a blank faced one. He deems that, and simply putting ‘ _ hope you like _ ’ way too fucking boring, so he just sits there. Thinking.

Then it comes to him.

It’s risky, for sure, and Clay knows it. It could come off as too forward, or maybe with weird intent or, really, countless other things that he just cannot identify no matter how hard he thinks and thinks. 

He stares at the slow green blinking of his Juul charger across the room through a small puff of smoke. Runs his fingers through Patches’ soft fur. Continues his silent thinking.

His thumb is hovering over the delete key, until thunder rumbles. It’s soft (but Patches still jumps a little), and the storm is distant, and really, it wasn’t too much of anything, but it eggs him on  _just_ enough  to make him murmur ‘ _ fuck it _ ’ under his breath and hit done. 

_ george _

_ by  😶 clay 💭 _

_ here’s your playlist  😶 got a snap .? _

He opens one of his own playlists, hits shuffle until an absolute  _ banger _ comes on, turns the volume up, and tosses his phone onto his blanket next to him. He mindlessly pats Patches’ head and hums quietly.

_ yeah, my phone screen’s broken and my heart’s still racin’ _

_ yeah, my mind’s still vacant, can’t you tell? _

_ liquor seeping through my veins, bitch, i feel no ways _

_ counting days, these hours passing by _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what you think :)


	3. can’t feel my legs / r.i.p. screw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george  
> by 😶clay💭
> 
> [It’s a picture of Patches being held by Clay (he guesses), his hand flashing a blurry peace sign in front of her.]
> 
> He hits it and presses shuffle before he even reads the description or scrolls through it, because Jesus Christ, Clay actually did it. 
> 
> Clay, this guy— this really nice guy— he didn’t really know, made him a playlist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so motivated to finish this bc of all of your kind words last chapter so thank you so much <3 i hope you continue to enjoy this !! lmk what you think

George grimaces at the pace that the weather channel website is moving at. He grimaces once more when the blue line creeps along the top of his page, teasing him just enough to still keep him waiting until— until he’s met with a ‘ _the server stopped fucking responding_ ’ (or something along those lines) error message. 

“ _Fuck_ , ” he groans, mirroring the low rumble of thunder outside his window.

He closes his tabs, restarts his phone’s WiFi, and after a lot of swearing, about 12 and a half minutes, and some sort of _godly_ intervention, he’s  finally  gotten the weather page to load. He mashes the button that says ‘ _Hourly_ ’  while he has the chance and is met with confirmation of the worst of his suspicions.

8 _:30 PM, 70%, 9 PM, 85%, 10 PM, 90%..._

_Shit_.

“Fuck.” he repeats, earning a look of disdain from his cat, who is (was) perched at the end of his bed, sleeping peacefully. She’s now eyeing him curiously, tail flicking near his knee. 

According to this forecast, which George  really  hoped was wrong for once, it would be storming _all_ goddamn night.

And George absolutely _hated_ storms.

Rain was nice. Peaceful. He didn’t mind a steady drizzle now and then. Overcast skies and the gentle pattering of wetness against window panes was soothing. It makes the mud puddles and sticky humidity left afterwards almost forgivable.

What he did mind, however, was thunder. And fucking lightning.  He’s a grown ass man who _still_ gets nervous when rain brings along it’s obnoxious little goddamn friends. 

He realizes, after reloading the weather page about five times, that the weather had no intention of moving away. 

Probably just to spite him, too.

The page sat stubbornly while the minutes ticked by, and all the weather did was worsen. He absentmindedly scratches behind his cat’s ears while the rain gets louder on his roof. 

As soon as the first proper crack of thunder comes, he’s scrambling for earbuds and navigating towards Apple Music as quickly as he can. His cat is suddenly clinging to his side while he hits play on the first thing he finds and turns it up.  He finds, with a scowl, an eye roll, and an internal murmuring of ‘ _ typical _ ’, that he is most certainly  _ not  _ in the mood for the playlist he has on. 

_ Playlist. _

_ Holy fuck, the playlist— _

He hears thunder again, although a little muffled from his earbuds in his ears, playing nothing. His hand stills on his cat’s head. Lightning peeks through his blinds. His lights flicker a little.

The combination of his absolute hatred of the storm occurring outside, nerves about checking for the playlist that Clay  probably disregarded and didn’t make,  and now fear that his power may fucking go out—

He’s anxious, to say the least. 

He shivers, despite not being cold, and pulls his blankets up a little farther. He feels his cat’s cold nose nudge his hand, her way of telling him, ‘ _hey, dipshit, I didn’t tell you to stop_ ’, so he opts to gently and rhythmically pat her head.

She’s making him feel a little better.

Then his stomach sinks again because he stopped tuning out the weather and the stupid fucking playlist is on his mind again.

Checking couldn’t hurt, right?

Besides, in this moment, he’s kind of desperate for it.

He sighs and reluctantly pulls his left hand from his cats head, patience dissipating a little once his phone’s stupid face ID won’t work, because of  _ course  _ it won’t right now.

_Maybe it’s too dark_ ,  he muses,  _ or maybe I just look like shit. But now really isn’t the time, Apple. _

He absently chalks it up to the darkness shrouding his surroundings and impatiently types in his passcode. 

He hits his profile up in the corner and scrolls down the page to the name ‘ 😶 _ clay _ 💭 ’. His profile picture is endearing, in a goofy way.

George clicks on his name and lets go of the breath he didn’t really know he was holding.

_ george _

_ by  😶 clay 💭 _

_ [It’s a picture of Patches being held by Clay (he guesses), his hand flashing a blurry peace sign in front of her.] _

He hits it and presses shuffle before he even reads the description or scrolls through it, because Jesus Christ, _Clay actually did it._

Clay, this guy— this _really_ _ nice _ guy— he didn’t really know, made him a playlist. 

_i had to beat it up, to stay inside _

_and your tears are happiness, the way you cry _

A _really_ _ good  _ playlist. He toggles away from the song, and scrolls through the playlist, dumbfounded.

It’s weird, he knows, but it feels like Dream knew him well already, because, well—

It’s diverse, for sure, almost daring in a way, a healthy mix of every genre he liked. He’s got Travis Scott and Trippie Redd on one hand, and on the other he’s got bands like Green Day and The Neighbourhood. He’s got Mac Demarco and Quadeca. He’s got 24kgoldn and Oleander. Lana Del Rey and 21 Savage.

And holy shit, does it _absolutely slap_.  
  


He exhales and scrolls back up, when  _ it _ finally catches his eye.

The instrumental intro to  _ SKELETONS _ plays while he reads it.

_ george _

_ by  😶 clay 💭 _

_ here’s your playlist  😶 got a snap .? _

Yeah. He did. 

Like he’s on autopilot, he makes a new playlist. Titles it  ‘ _@Dream’_.  Adds the first good song he sees in his favourites playlist (truthfully, he had shit to remove from it, it had been a bit), writes out the description, and hits done without even really overthinking this one. 

_ @Dream _

_ by george 💙 _

_ same @ on snap _

While he’s thinking of it, he decides to check Nick’s story.

Of course, there’s some shit on it, and of _course_ , Clay’s there too.

_ [ A picture of Nick at his window, displaying the downpour while he and a yellow clad— no, maybe it’s green— fuck, George doesn’t know— dirty blonde, who has averted his face, are each flashing a thumbs up. It’s captioned ‘got stuck with this fuckinf pissbaby. wish me luck’. George huffs out a laugh at that one. Maybe it was yellow after all.] _

He exits Snapchat and sets his phone down with a contented sigh.

The loud thunder has been minimized to a barely there sound, blending in with the backing tracks of the songs, and really, he can just avert his eyes from the lightning.

For once, at 9:57 PM, during a loud and shitty and big storm, George feels great.

Suddenly, and oh so rudely interrupting his good time, his phone goes off.

Nick:  _ hey gogy grogington gogmeister george my beloved the 69th _

Nick : _ik u hate storms and stuff just wanted 2 make sure you were doin ok_

He snorts at Nick’s words. Nicholas? Nick Sapnap? In his texts? Not being a little shit? A first (maybe).

George:  _ yeah actually im doin great nicholas nick sapnap sappitus nappitus sapmeister the 420th _

George:  _ thank you <3  _

Nick:  _ yeah yeah whatever  🙄💞 glad ur ok _

George thinks to himself, while  _ R.I.P. SCREW  _ plays, that maybe, just maybe, that’s actually truthful. 

(It is.)

He leans back a little (much to his cat’s chagrin, as she has to readjust herself) and hums along while he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s hoping this whole making friends with Clay thing goes well.

_oh my god, i just can feel the love _

_droptop with the windows up _

_  
jump inside, oh won’t you roll with us? _

_make the devil bite the angel dust _


	4. borderline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe worry about getting yourself a girlfriend before you worry about me,” George mutters, mockingly indignant, and considerably more awake to be flinging lighthearted insults Nick’s way, “Never mind, you unironically listen to MC Virgins and Yung Nugget. How about we just worry about neither of us?” he mumbles, exasperated.
> 
> He’s half hoping, even though he’s still tired and kind of out of it, that Nick clarifies that, no, it isn’t a girl he’d like George to meet, and no, it isn’t with romantic intentions, it’s someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo two updates so soon very awesome anyways this chapter is more set up for the next one than anything so sorry if ur hopes were up + this was all done in one day so if errors run rampant i’ll get to those soon
> 
> anyways yk what would be cool? if this were to hit 1k hits so tell all ur friends
> 
> lmk what you think

He’d left Nick’s house early the next morning. 

He’d nudged a half-conscious Nick to alert him of his departing, earning a gravelly ‘ _ okay, let me fucking sleep dude _ ’ and a pillow to the face. Nick still yelled a loud ass ‘ _ I love you _ ’ as he left, earning a wheeze from a halfway out the door Clay. 

He’s finally back in his own driveway after a stop at a shitty 7/11, this time with a lemonade flavoured Icee and a plastic bag containing Juul pods (original for himself, mango for Nick, he’d owe him one later), four ultraviolet Monsters (that definitely earned him a weird look at eight in the morning), and two frozen microwaveable dinners. He had a feeling he’d need them later.

The brunt of the storm had passed by now, leaving behind only faint rain and the extremely occasional and barely audible rumble— no, it’s more of a hum— of thunder. Nick had mumbled something to him the previous night about a good friend of his  _ really  _ disliking weather like this, so he’s glad on their behalf that this was mostly over. 

He leans over his centre console and snatches the bag off of the seat next to him, shutting the door and locking his car. He fishes in his pocket for his house-key while making his way through wet grass, unlocking his creaky door and being met with Patches, stood looking expectant in front of him.

“Hey, girl,” he murmurs, bending down to pet her head for a moment before shutting and locking his door with a not so subtle sigh of annoyance that isn’t particularly aimed at her.

It was going to be a long few days.

Clay was one hundred percent a procrastinator. Always had been. It had gotten him in some hot water before, yeah, but it was a hard fucking thing to drop, and especially now, with no more real adult supervision in his life, no more being hovered over and being told ‘ _ hey, you need to get that done _ _’_ — it’s even harder. 

In hindsight, he should’ve gotten Nick’s code done, like, a _week and a half_ ago, he thinks between feeding his cat and putting three of the Monsters in his fridge. As he carries the fourth one to his room, along with his Icee and his attention craving cat, he knows it’s nearly too late, so he’s going to absolutely burn himself out for the next two or so days and it’s his own damn fault, so what can he do? Nick had already done his fair share of it. He considers texting him a quick apology, something along the lines of, ‘ _ hey man, so sorry about the code shit, im getting on that rn’. _

He types it in the message bar, thinks on it for a bit because maybe Nick hadn’t thought about it, and Clay shouldn’t bring it to his attention, or maybe he  _ had _ thought about it, and thought Clay was being a _dick_ for not apologizing or just fucking  _doing_ it.  He also knows that Nick is just a _nice fucking dude_ who would wave it off if Clay spent the next  month doing it and say, ‘ _ hey, it’s just for a game, really, no worries ’. _

His phone dings.

Nick:  _ dont burn urself out clay _

He doesn’t even _remember_ sending it. 

Clay: _ i won’t don’t worry  😋 _

He knows that he will, and Nick probably does too. He laughs about it quietly, carding a hand through his loose hair while he throws out an empty Juul pod and replaces it with one from the pack that he just bought. He sits back in his bed, runs his fingertips over the grainy glitter that encases it somewhat impatiently while he watches Nick type.

Nick:  _ if you don’t then u should come over on wednesday _

Nick:  _ im having every1 over to hang  😁😁 including wilbur and minx and karl and alex and maybe niki and wilbur too and yk all those bitches  _

He glances over at Patches, who has hopped up on his bed and flopped onto her side next to him, running his thumb over one of her little paws. 

Clay:  _maybe maybe maybe i’m a busy man you know_

He isn’t.

Nick:  _ ah yes of course  _

And Nick knows that.

Nick:  _ well if youre feeling up to it then you should come itll be chillll  🥶 _

Nick:  _ plus karls comin in w that ounceee or maybe alex is too idk idk  _

_ Nick:  _no pressure though clay s_ rsly prioritize urself over weed well have plenty of other chances _

Clay:  _ you do make an irresistible offer  _

Clay:  _ i’ll let you know 😇 _

Clay’s thankful Nick knows him well enough that, even over text, he knows when Clay’s just not feeling it and doesn’t push it. 

Nick:  _ sweet  _

Nick:  _ hope you have a great day man lmk if you need anything _

Clay:  _ i will and you too _

Clay:  _ also picked you up mango pods earlier so if youre out you can come get some _

Nick:  _ GOD FUCKING BLESS im not out yet but thank you _

Clay:  _ ofc ofc ;) _

Nick must also sense that Clay really isn’t feeling that chatty on this gloomy Monday morning, simply hearting Clay’s message and leaving it at that. 

Again, Clay’s thankful for  _him_.

He decides, after a few moments of silence, even though he knows he won’t be able to concentrate as well, he needs background music. He takes a drag off his Juul and shuffles his chill playlist, because the calmer the better here, and decides to check the ‘ _george_ ’ playlist. Just because.

**_ Friends Who Listened _ **

_ george 💙 _

**_ Added Playlist _ **

_ george 💙 _

He can’t help the tired but satisfied grin that tugs at his mouth. At least he listened to it.

He checks George’s account, eyes skimming over his newest playlist, grin widening at the message.

_ @dream _

_ by george 💙 _

_ same @ on snap _

It’s simple, he knows, and George had completely neglected to mention the playlist, but even though Clay doesn’t know him, it seems  _him_. 

He adds him on Snap, boldly messages him a shaky ‘ _ hey apple music user georgenotfound _ 😏 ’.  He decides to update his story because Christ, it had been a bit, with a picture of his hand, holding out the Icee and setting the monster on the bed in front of Patches. He snaps a quick and fuzzy picture and captions it the first remotely funny thing he can think of. (‘ _ patches on monster what will she do’) _

He checks one last time before he closes it that George hadn’t added him back or seen his message. He hadn’t.

He’s probably still asleep.

He takes a slow and long sip of his Icee, setting it on his side table after a moment.

He sighs, dragging his laptop onto his lap and opening it, drumming his fingers against his knee along to the beat of some  Tame Impala song he can’t remember the name of.

_ here i go _

_ quite a show, for a loner in la _

_ i wonder how i managed to end up in this place _

_ where i couldn’t get away _

* * *

George wakes with a start. 

For starters, it’s, like, a little past 11, which is sort of early for him, he guesses, and his phone is going off, which is  _weird_ ,  because he doesn’t  remember  _setting_ an alarm— until he blinks away the sleep in his eyes and reads the caller ID.

He groans audibly and snags his phone, answering and putting it on speaker.

“Good morning Pisscolas Fapnap,” he exhales, sitting up slowly and setting his phone in his lap.

“Good morning to you too, George,” Nick greets, surprisingly cheery sounding despite George’s words, “I know, it’s early, I’m sorry, I just knew that if I didn’t call you and ask you now then I’d forget, so— yeah.”

“No worries,” he yawns, trying to clear the remnants of sleep from his voice, “Whatever can I do for you?”

“So, um,” Nick starts, “I’m having everyone over. On Wednesday, I think, and there’s someone I’d like you to meet, and I just wanted to ask you really nicely if you’d come since I’m your  _best friend_ and all—“

“Maybe worry about getting yourself a girlfriend before you worry about me,” George mutters, mockingly indignant, and considerably more awake to be flinging lighthearted insults Nick’s way, “Never mind, you unironically listen to MC Virgins and Yung Nugget. How about we just worry about _neither_ of us?” he mumbles, exasperated.

He’s half hoping, even though he’s still tired and kind of out of it, that Nick clarifies that, no, it isn’t a girl he’d like George to meet, and no, it isn’t with romantic intentions, it’s someone else.

_ Clay, maybe. _

“Hey, dickhead, literally the _entire_ Sex Havers group chat would take offense to that and Virgins Club is a fucking jam but— that’s beside the point,” Nick laughs, rolling his eyes, “I just want you to have some fun George, because I’m not really sure that you do very often. Come on man, just— just get out there. For just a second. For me? Please? Let me set you up with this girl— she— she’s your age, and she’s _pretty_ and she’s _funny_ , you’d like her, I think. Honestly, George, at least meet her, I think she’d be _good_ for you.”

He swears silently at the word ‘ _girl_ ’. Rolls his eyes at ‘ _set you up_ ’.

“It sounds like you like her. Why don’t you just go for her?” George tries to sound as uninterested as possible without being borderline bitchy. To get Nick to drop it. 

“I’m not interested in her like that.” he says simply, “George?”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“For one night?”

George sighs over the phone. He mutes himself for a moment to whisper _‘fuck, fuck, fuck_ ’ a few times, burying his head in his hands, tangling in the ends of his hair and tugging lightly at the strands he finds.

George wasn’t _lonely_ , George had _plenty_ of fun, he didn’t need _this_ , or _her_ , and Nick was just flat out _wrong_ —

It’s too fucking early for this.

He unmutes, squeezes his eyes shut, and reluctantly responds.

“Okay,” George cringes at the sound of his own voice, “For you. For one night.”

“You better actually try, George,” Nick says, smile evident and voice soft despite his words, “I’ll come get you, like, day after tomorrow at 7:30 or something, since you can’t fucking drive like a loser. She’ll be there. Don’t look like shit, don’t fucking forget.”

“I won’t, Nichola—“

George cuts himself off, reddening in something like embarrassment when Nick huffs out a laugh at him. 

“I won’t.” he repeats, able to finish this time.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, now go brush your fucking teeth, George.”

George starts to argue, starts to say ‘ _I just woke up, dumbass, I will—‘_ , but he’s cut off by Nick laughing and telling George to have a good day and hanging up.

The silence afterwards leaves a bad taste in his mouth and something gross and foggy hanging over him.

Maybe he _should_ go brush his teeth.


End file.
